


won't you wander back to me?

by foibles_fables



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Hawk and Thrush LET'S GO, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Frozen Wilds, Post-Game, just let them be soft ok, post-comic, the T-rating is strong with this one, ~trash sponsoring trash~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29389383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foibles_fables/pseuds/foibles_fables
Summary: “Tell me.” Aloy quirks an eyebrow, and instantly it becomes clear that she’s trying not to reveal one of those rare grins. Her mouth obeys, but she can’t stop her eyes from lighting up as their gazes catch. “Did you miss me?”--Some time later, Aloy shows up in Meridian after her latest journey: weeks and weeks in The Cut. Talanah is glad all of the wandering has brought her close again.
Relationships: Aloy/Talanah Khane Padish
Comments: 30
Kudos: 54





	won't you wander back to me?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I never write fluff. These two absolute idiots have gone and _made me_. What have they done. I just wanted to give them some softness OKAY
> 
> Imagine this is _vague hand wave to indicate nebulous amount of time_ after the events of the main game and the comic, immediately post-Frozen Wilds. As noted in the tags, this is SFW but rated a very strong T.
> 
> listen: ["Little Wanderer" - Death Cab for Cutie](https://open.spotify.com/track/2mvBxK1ETGj5nguG6cDaax?si=648f042d039b4a20)

The passage of time carves out its presence on all things. Sun and Shadow cycle in the same way every day. Seconds to minutes, to days, to a year—each a mark of build and decay, again and again, turning rough to smooth, gleam to rust, far to close and then far again. But always coming back, until that space between vanishes. Always here. In the same space, not just under the same Sun. Here, after those wild fractures begin to narrow and mend. Here where walls start to come down piece by piece, dismantled by careful hand and unspoken understanding and calm dedication. And left bare by the fall, hearts drift together—seeking and reaching and finding—in ways striking and unfamiliar, but also riveting and right.

The banter changes with time, too. Polite and formal first, then playful. Then tentatively suggestive, tiptoeing around strange new gravity. Then something deeper, more meaningful, like now. It changes, but it never fades away. Not for them.

And today—at another instance of _far_ finally coming back to _close_ —an old teasing greeting gets turned on its head.

“Tell me.” Aloy quirks an eyebrow, and instantly it becomes clear that she’s trying not to reveal one of those rare grins. Her mouth obeys, but she can’t stop her eyes from lighting up as their gazes catch. “Did you miss me?”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, esteemed Sunhawk Talanah Khane Padish crosses her arms over her chest and leans back against the balcony balustrade.

 _Yes, always_ , she thinks. But truly, that’s become more than obvious. So she feigns bored disinterest instead. “That depends, Thrush. Did you bring back any trophies for me?”

Aloy meets her there, postures too. “Of course. A whole cart’s worth.” She squints, as though she’s considering some preposterous but exciting concept. “In fact, I think _I_ might actually be the new Sunhawk.”

“Hm. Good thing that’s not at all how it works.”

“You know, Talanah, you won’t be able to hide behind those bylaws forever.”

But by the time the exchange is over, both are wearing smiles that betray true sentiment: the stir of being here together after another separation, this one the longest so far. The pulse-rush of their bodies finally being close enough to touch, to reacquaint. And though Talanah brims with the urge to reach for her and close the remaining gap of heat and air between them, she waits. Patience. No sudden moves. Not calculated or tactical—not counting weaknesses, like when she prepares to take her prey. This is deference. This is staying drawn-back, like an arrow waiting attentively to be loosed. Respectful of the space, of Aloy, of what she knows Aloy needs. Of what Aloy’s always needed, since their first long parting after the Battle of the Alight.

Because even when walls are brought down, they leave a boundary of rubble that must be crossed with extra caution. Ample care, to avoid discomfort or fright. To make sure _far_ keeps being chased by _close_.

So instead of hastening contact, Talanah merely looks, observing the subtle changes that come with a journey’s end.

She always comes back a little bit different.

And somehow, she always comes back a little bit more familiar.

The weeks upon weeks spent in The Cut have rendered Aloy even wirier than before, but definitely not any frailer for the new leanness. Stronger, to the contrary, hewn out of cold and stone. Gazing at her like Talanah is, and knowing her in the significant ways Talanah now has, it’s plain to see. And it’s also a struggle not to stare at her—all sleeveless silks and bare midriff, like she’s desperately greedy for and clinging to every bit of heat that she’s missed since setting out on this latest adventure. The elaborate Banuk headpiece she’s wearing is a striking juxtaposition, and makes Talanah want to laugh simply because it’s so endearingly _her_. She’s a bit paler, too—if that's even possible— side from a thick smattering of freckles under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. Skin so fair and sensitive that the glare of Meridian’s Sun has already tinged her shoulders and neck with pink.

But the unforgiving north seems to have given her more than it took. There’s another notch of determination written on her face, another lesson whetting the resolve in her eyes. And it’s impossible to tell whether what she found there in the bitter cold has granted any of the perpetual answers she’s seeking—if it settled any of the questions she still only shares either in part, or not at all.

That particular thought frustrates, sometimes cutting deep. But those questions are Aloy’s. This journey is Aloy’s. Right now, Meridian is part of it. That’s enough to go by until she leaves again. And her presence, standing there now beaming with that rare smile, is like daybreak’s first rays slipping past the horizon.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Talanah says with the kind of softness that comes from easy impulse. “Glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” Aloy replies, nodding. Her voice gravels, full of fine-drawn truth. “I am, too.”

“Will you be staying long?”

Despite everything, Talanah keeps the question neutral and even-toned, delivering it without the mantle of expectation. Aloy pauses and looks askance in contemplation before just _shrugging_. Accustomed to this delicate dance, Talanah believes the uncertainty that lies behind the gesture.

“I don’t know. For a little while, I think. If you’ll have me until then.”

By now, the last part requires no acknowledgement. _You’ll always have a special home here, if you want it_. Time has changed that, too—but only augmenting it, making it bolder, not whittling it away.

The look of understanding that passes between them is plenty to suffice.

“So, Aloy despite the Nora,” Talanah says, “what will you do first while you’re in Meridian?”

“First? This.” Aloy uses upturned palms to gesture towards them, right now, this moment on the Lodge balcony drenched in late-afternoon sun. The gratefulness swells again in Talanah’s chest, growing more profound with the awareness of it being mutually-held. “But, second. Maybe a hot bath? I’d be fine without—” (and this, Talanah knows—most comforts are still avoided) “—but it’s like I can’t purge the cold.”

“Don’t worry.” Talanah shakes her head, smirking. “I think that can be arranged.”

There’s a crackle in the air, a change in its weight. Aloy’s eyes soften, darken. It feels like the right time to reach. So Talanah does. Extends her hand, slowly bridging the gap and breaching these come-close borders, until it comes to rest on Aloy’s bare waist. The first careful brush of skin on skin—still, like always—makes Aloy’s breath hitch with gentle but visible surprise, a discreet reaction Talanah watches with fulfilled relish.

And Talanah pulls her in. Bodies flush, no more separation. Then closer still.

* * *

Skin on skin later, too. Static on static and light on light. They share each other slowly. The initial restraint and bone-chill vanishes in body heat friction and the caress of silk sheets and the scent of fine oils. Deliberate, delicate, heady, grasping and pressing with long-built desperation. All without hurry, and marked by the sort of indulgence with which Talanah isn’t used to seeing Aloy do much of anything.

After, they lie together in the scattered patches of sunset streaming in through the window and across the bed—both of them sated and drowsy, but engaged. It’s one of those uncommon moments during which Aloy looks like she’s content to remain still: on her belly, body draped half-over Talanah’s, face buried in the crook of her shoulder. Talanah holds her there, but not too tight. Her fingertips trail along the crease of Aloy’s spine, up and down with steady cadence, tracing the glare of fading day that falls on her skin. The touch draws out the occasional sigh and plenty of shivers that finally have nothing to do with the cold.

This is no typical noble Carja courtship. Far from it. But much of the typical has fallen away since the stand at the Spire. And in this state—melded and tame, with all of the lines crossed and all of their lines crossing—it hardly matters.

“I’m leading a group of fledges to Midday’s Haven tomorrow,” Talanah says, her words a languid drawl, not so much spoken as exhaled. “Stalkers have started to encroach on the outskirts, and the town has called upon the Lodge for aid. It’s a prime training exercise—a number of the amateurs have never felled a Stalker before, let alone stripped one. Will you join us?”

Aloy props her head up, hand on chin, heeding her with an intrigued gaze. “A Stalker problem at a settlement with a pretty ironic name? I’m interested. Count me in.”

“Great. I hoped so. They’ll be falling over themselves with eagerness to learn from you. And I’ll be thrilled you’re there, too.” Talanah smiles, giving one of Aloy’s fresh braids a gentle tug. “The Stalkers—well, maybe not as much. Though I’m sure culling a few of those stealthy bastards is a downright menial task for a werak chieftain.”

Aloy rolls her eyes. “That was only temporary. Like I’ve already told you, multiple times. You can let it go now.” But then she grins, tiny and smug, drumming her fingertips against Talanah’s collarbone. “And besides, you’re wrong. It’ll be nice to hunt without dealing with a rogue snow squall. _Or_ being blinded by my own breath fogging up in front of my face.”

Talanah cringes, appalled at the mere thought. “Sounds awful.”

“Awful? Sure, maybe. _Challenging_ is probably more like it,” Aloy asserts. “I’ll be better-seasoned to all of it when I’m back there again.”

And there it is. The first hinted prelude of another inevitable wandering. It’s a momentary struggle not to let it sting. But Talanah tries, and scrapes by.

“So you’ll return to The Cut?”

Aloy rests her head on Talanah’s shoulder again, and the movement nearer stands in dramatic contrast to her words. After a second of settling into her, she nods. “I’d like to, if it works out. Maybe even farther north to Ban-Ur itself.”

Even after hearing all the stories, reading the scribes’ glyphs, and welcoming a number of Banuk fledges, it’s difficult to even conceive of the frozen lands beyond the High Bloom. To fill the silence she makes the comment: “Then the adventure was a meaningful one.”

“It was,” Aloy says. Glancing down, Talanah catches her furrowing her brow in thought. “It’s hard to explain. What was happening there was dangerous, and devastating. But even so, there was this...peace. This utter and vast quietness. Like the snow and wind stole the sound away from everything. At first it was kind of unnerving. When I went out on my own, I talked to myself a lot to fill in the silence. It reminded me of...” Her thought trails off before reemerging with just a slight tremor of hesitance. “Of things I’d rather not think about.”

The sentiment is vague but doesn’t need to be delineated—especially when spoken of with hushed reluctance in place of thorny bitterness. Talanah skims her hand up Aloy’s back, palm flattening against a shoulder blade, wishing that freely-given touch could be recompense for the time when a lack of words and denial of connection masqueraded as righteous penance. Her lips brush against Aloy’s temple—not quite a kiss, but enough to be felt.

“That must have been uncomfortable,” she whispers. “Suffocating.”

Aloy makes a tiny appreciative noise before continuing. “Yeah. Until just like that, it wasn’t anymore. Something clicked and the emptiness turned into something else. Maybe harmony, or a part of it. Like feeling relevant, tied together with everything. The people I’d met, the machines, the world—both ours and the one the Old Ones knew. It sounds strange, I know, but it’s definitely a little easier to understand how the Banuk live and believe and persist. It seems like there’s more that lies beyond it. I want to find out what it is.”

“I hope you get to.” It’s spoken truly, even if hoping also means resigning herself to letting go again. And it’s clear that though one fight is over and won, somewhere, some way, more still lurk. Lying so close, Talanah can almost feel the restless energy flowing through Aloy and then peaking, searching for a way to be released.

Aloy’s gaze flickers upward, peering at Talanah through her lashes, green eyes flaring in the deepening scarlet glow.

“You should come next time.”

The simple offer is enough to stun. It whips into Talanah’s perception and bears in, taking her aback. It’s a matter-of-fact proposal, but not one she ever expects—a laid-bare invitation to fit into Aloy’s world and its patterns. Aloy, who never lingers, who never stops, never lets the Sun cast her shadow the same way twice.

Aloy, who still keeps so much shielded from view—things that make her come crashing awake with nightmares when they share a bed like this. (Sometimes Talanah wonders if they grow worse whenever they’re apart.)

Somewhere along the way, fighting by her side has turned into fighting to _be_ by her side in every way. And now the call to wander with instead of wonder after. It feels like a staggering step towards contentment. Like a warm ray of honor crawling across her face.

“You’d want that?”

“Of course. I think you’d respect the way the Banuk handle things—it reminds me a lot of you. And you really haven’t lived until you’ve faced off against a Thunderjaw in snowdrifts that swallow you up to your thighs.”

Talanah gives her a thoughtful frown. “For some reason, I’m not so sure I believe _that_.”

“Oh? Is the Sunhawk afraid of catching a chill?”

“Afraid, hardly.” A nonchalant sigh as she draws Aloy’s arm over her and angles her hips under the sheet, shifting their bodies together. She pretends not to notice how it distracts and frankly _flusters_ Aloy when she says, “But it sounds like all of...that, would require a lot more clothing than I prefer to wear.”

For her part, Aloy makes a remarkably quick recovery. She squares up to Talanah and locks them into a clever stalemate, wearing that narrow-eyed, tight, lopsided smirk that almost sways closer to a sneer. But her hand carves out a tender path over the swell of Talanah’s bicep. Talanah’s pulse thrums and then soars at the contact, filling with the urge to careen into it, into the fading glow and thriving warmth enveloping them. Going hazy at the way the bowstring calluses on Aloy’s fingers drag against her skin. Reeling in the sheer state of being so face-to-face, breath on each other’s mouths. She’s missed this, even though _this_ hasn’t had much time to grow roots and become intrinsic. She’s missed _her_ , even though missing her is a near-given way of being.

“That _would_ be a sight, you all bundled up. You’d need it. But you’d survive. The cold wasn’t completely horrible.” Then, noting Talanah’s dubious look, Aloy deadpans and reconsiders. “Alright. It was pretty horrible. Most of that talking to myself was actually complaining to myself about it.”

“You’re definitely not helping your case.”

Aloy ignores her. “It was also beautiful, though. On days when the sky was clear, you could scale even a low crest and just see on and on. Everything was turned into white jagged peaks and rivers thick with ice, all of it so bright you had to squint. And while even the sunlight was cold, it was still easy to remember that a warmer sun exists. Thinking of that warmer sun helped, a lot.”

The details ripple into Talanah’s mind with much more clarity than their simplicity would imply. Aloy’s description becomes more than secondhand—something distant recasting into something personal. Appreciation blooms, too, for the generous glimpse into a private memory. “That’s at least a bit more enticing.”

Aloy’s mouth twitches into a small smile—the kind that’s just a glint in her eye. But once it makes purchase, it becomes more tentative than usual.

“Hey,” she says, quickly, as though she’s been trying to contrive a way to bring up whatever’s coming next. “I brought something else for you, besides the carts of machine trophies.”

“So there are multiple carts now?”

“Several.” Voice storms in flat, blunt, never _ever_ misses a beat. That tireless energy sparks again, swerves, makes Aloy move. She’s all practiced nimbleness as she ravels out of their tangle, tosses away the bedsheets, and stands.

Talanah hitches onto the motion part of the way—sitting up and drawing the bedcover to her chest, feeling the loss of her body heat. Aloy turns away in search of her bag, abandoned hastily on the floor hours before. And Talanah watches her. Lets her gaze sweep over Aloy’s angles and curves, remembering the time and toil and intention it took to first map them out—to be allowed closer, overcoming with and being overcome by novel trust. All of it spent half-holding her breath, then and now alike.

Speaking is one way to coax herself to breathe.

“If it’s not one of those gorgeous bows, keep it,” she teases, letting her throat hum and curve around the letters.

Aloy shoots her a playful sneer as she reaches into one of the bag’s pockets, removing something which she keeps concealed in her fist. “The bows? Definitely all mine. Sorry. I’ll let you try them out, though.”

“Huh. Wow. I feel like I should be groveling in the face of all this generosity.”

Aloy waves her closed hand at Talanah, the other resting on her hip. “Do you want to see or not?”

Mouth tight with stifled laughter, Talanah nods an apology. “You know I do.”

Apparently it sounds contrite enough to appease. Aloy drifts back to the bed and climbs in. She kneels at Talanah’s side, resting her weight back on her heels. A hand offered, still closed at first, then fingers unfolding around the object cradled in her palm. A crystal, blue in color, several shades darker than the mid-morning sky but no less luminescent—a bold glow that seems to come more from its core rather than reflected from its surface. Rigged with fine wire and a loop of leather, faceted into the shape of a sunburst by either skilled hand or kind happenstance. Something about the way it looks in the burgeoning twilight is immediately mesmerizing. Talanah, captivated, bids her vision to spark and behold, admiring this tiny gem as intently as she just had been admiring Aloy’s body.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, awestruck, realizing how the words fall short. Aloy squints out a tight smile and places it in Talanah’s hand; it’s much heavier than it looks, and so smooth despite its keen edges. “What is it?”

“Bluegleam,” Aloy says. “A major commodity in the Banuk territories. For ceremony, trade, crafting, name it. It crystallizes on the shells of fallen machines in the farthest reaches—where it’s not exactly a breeze to find and harvest. The Banuk think it’s the embodiment of the Blue Light, their revered machine-spirit becoming manifest. Clearly, it’s just frozen machine fluid.” Aloy’s brow notches. “But with how I was expecting it to melt all over my things during the trip back, maybe there’s something to it after all. Looks like it’s safe from your almighty Sun.”

Talanah lets that little remark pass without retort or look of fond exasperation. Just blinks up at Aloy and then back at the Bluegleam. How it glimmers in the gray shadows growing denser with every passing second, and how it seems to steal the warmth from her skin. It’s an emblem of the world becoming smaller, folding over itself to make two faraway points meet. She thinks of Aloy, caked in snow, freezing but fulfilled and running deep with calm. Conquering a peak and standing on its precipice, foggy breathlessness all around her. But smiling, just slightly, as she gazes out at a view that utterly dwarves her, all of the vast brightness and wild _forever_.

And Talanah wonders what direction Aloy might be facing as she looks off into oblivion. Seeking, reaching, maybe finding.

Then, Talanah thinks—no, not _thinks_ , it’s much more chest than mind, felt like her pulse— _warmer sun_.

And the Aloy here ( _here_ , again, each time she realizes is like a blissful gasp of air) is waiting for words, waiting for _something_. Heart in her throat, Talanah provides.

“Thank you, Aloy.” Stricken, but steady. Her hands move—Aloy’s taken in one, the other cradling the Bluegleam close. She sweeps her thumb over Aloy’s knuckles. Space shared, skin so warm. Nobody’s frozen over anymore. “I’ll carry it with pride and gratitude.”

Aloy sways into the touch, slowly, subtly. With a crooked grin, she gives Talanah’s hand a quick squeeze and slips back under the sheets. Quietly, then, she nestles in, comfortable and still.

“Yeah. A talisman for your bow, or a pendant to wear. Or...I don’t know, have it crafted into whatever you want. Just a small tribute from your Thrush,” she says, voice dripping with good-natured sarcasm. But then, a change in her bearing, sudden and swift and smooth. Her face softens, eyes flash in the now-darkness—like smoke clearing, letting Talanah see straight through. She cups Talanah’s cheek with a careful palm, gently guiding their foreheads together. And a thick murmur, so quiet but so palpably true, “Who missed you—a lot—while she was gone.”

And to miss something is hard, Talanah knows. Splitting oneself open far enough to admit it is harder. Especially when missing was once just an empty, directionless throb - a cruel yearning for something never held, making holding anything thereafter all the more terrifying.

Words fail in every possible spectacular way, but that doesn’t matter. Because Aloy kisses her, softly but still searing to the core, fingers tangling in her hair. Anchored to this moment, ignited, tethered together by both bodies and words: some spoken, others unspoken but still laid plan. And for all the kisses they’ve found the time to share, there’s a stark and intimate magnitude to the ones Aloy initiates. Forcing herself to a brief flash of sense, Talanah sets the Bluegleam aside and grants Aloy a more proper embrace—holding her _here, here, here,_ each iteration a staccato clatter in her chest, clinging to the _sweet_ in _bittersweet_. Drinks in this moment that’s bound to end (but not now, not yet, for a little while, _until then_ ) with eager mouth, eager heart.

They separate only when they need to and not a second before—lightheaded, in need of air after denying it for too long in favor of one another. And still only a hairsbreadth of space divides them. Parted lips brush and bump clumsily together as they catch their breath. Half-lidded gazes lock as Talanah grazes her knuckles along Aloy’s jaw and over her cheekbone. The bed is cast in unbroken shadow now. But the freckles constellated on her cheeks are still bold enough to see, to number. And with a flutter of relief, Talanah can count on the fact that she’ll still be next to her when the Sun reappears.

“Aloy,” Talanah sighs against her mouth. The true answer to Aloy’s first question finally bursts into prominence, hoarse with affection. “I missed you, too.”

She feels Aloy smile. Shy, incredulous, and uncontrollably urgent. Her hand slides to the back of Talanah’s neck, fingers curling against soft skin. Everything slows, dissolves away. Everything resonates. Silence hangs, counted in shaking breaths and beats of pulse.

And of course, Aloy is the first to speak.

“So. Let’s make a strategy for how we’ll handle those Stalkers?”

Talanah takes a chance—selfish, probably, but also earned. Answers with another kiss, abrupt and insistent, as she flips their bodies around.

“I don’t see any Stalkers here. Do you?”

Aloy, surprised and also thrilled, gazes up, blinking and shaking her head. “No, not a single one.”

Talanah leans into this moment, into _right now_. Aloy rises to meet her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so very much for reading this brainrot. Your thoughts are always cherished! I wanted to let these two have a nice time before I break out the angst ( _soon_ , if the fates allow). Hit me up on Twitter or Tumblr if you want to scream with me. I scream a lot


End file.
